


A Betting Man

by The_Shy_One



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Betting, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Cheating, Competition, Crossover, Darts, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Minor Injuries, One Shot, The research and math I did for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shy_One/pseuds/The_Shy_One
Summary: Boba takes up an offer by a drunk and injured man to play darts.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	A Betting Man

It was after receiving the reward - a generous amount of credits that would make any other bounty hunter weep from joy at being set for life - that Boba decided to spend a bit of it at a bar. The one he chose was dingy, a place that only housed criminal scum and people looking to lay low for an evening. Boba was neither, but it was good enough for him to spend a few hours in. He’s sure the bartender wouldn’t mind him when he spent a lot of credits there.

There was music playing, a tune that was a mix of genres. It was meant to keep things calm in the bar or calm enough until later in the night. Boba moves past all the tables to sit at the counter, watching as the shifting crowd unabashedly stares at him as he takes off his helmet. He doesn’t stare back - doesn’t want to since that’ll cause them to whisper -, only asks for a drink from the bartender when they come his way.

He gets about halfway through his drink when someone comes stumbling up to him. Their speech was slurring as the man asked him,” Hey, you’re Fett, right? Wanna play darts with me? See which one of us is the better marksman? We can start at 100 credits if you want.”

Boba doesn’t pause in his current sip, but it doesn’t mean he’s not taking in details of the man next to him. He was human, had short blond hair that was sticking up in multiple directions as if he had just woken up. Along with the drunken look, the man also had bruises and cuts scattered across his face like he was getting up specifically to be part of a fight he had no right to be part of. Boba wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the man’s body was covered in similar bruises and cuts.

“And why would I?” Boba says as he puts his drink back on the countertop. He still doesn’t turn his head to look. But from the corner of his eyes, Boba can see the way he tilts his head, face turning to confusion. “I’m not here for darts.”

“But don’t you want to earn easy money?” The man asks, a voice close to a whine. “I’m drunk, you already have the advantage to win!”

“What do you get out of playing darts with Boba Fett?”

“Just the bragging rights to say I managed to convince you to do it. Nothing more.”

Boba narrowed his eyes at the man, wondering what he was up to. It was never that simple with people, not when Boba was involved, nor the Fett legacy. “That’s it?”

The man shrugged like he couldn’t be bothered to give an explanation beyond what he’d already said. “I told you, just want to play darts with Boba Fett. Maybe lose some credits for being dumb about it.”

Boba considers for a moment and then relents. Couldn’t be harmful to win some money out of this. The man was drunk and looked like he’d been in one too many fistfights to see straight. Boba had the advantage of being neither of those things currently.

“Fine, we start a game after this drink.”

The man smiles and takes a seat next to Boba. He leans against the counter, smiling still as he says, “I’m Clint by the way. Clint Barton.”

Boba doesn’t reply to it, watching in amusement when he sees Clint collapse on the counter with a sigh. Clint continues to stay like that as Boba drinks, only lifting his head when the bartender comes by.

When Boba is done with his drink, he stands up and waits for Clint to do the same. After a few moments, he kicks the chair that the man is sitting on and watches as the man flails for a quick moment before settling back down in his chair. As if he were shot with electricity rather than his chair being kicked.

“Tap a guy’s shoulder next time!” Clint yells, turning his body to glare at him. Boba doesn’t say anything in reply as Clint gets up. The man stumbles over to the dartboard on the far side of the bar, letting others drunkenly push him around when they decided they wanted to. 

Boba doesn’t do anything to stop it, only follows after the man. There wasn’t anyone by the dartboards even with all of them stuck in multiple places across the boards. They gather enough darts for the both of them and agree to start a game of 301. 

He goes into the stance that his father taught him and takes a moment to assess the distance to the board and where he wants to aim. Boba then moves his arm to let the dart fly, sure he was going to hit the outer rim of the board. It hits the number twenty on the outside ring and it earns him double, just as he wanted. He steps back to let Clint take his shot.

The man looks at the board for a moment, swaying slightly where he stood. He then moves into a stance - Boba noticed that Clint is suddenly steady when this happens - and takes a shot. It doesn’t hit the outer rim as it should and Clint deflates as a result. 

Boba smiles at this and takes his next turn. All three darts landed in the triple ring under the number twenty, earning him hundred eighty points. This draws a few people coming over to watch, impressed by what they just saw. Which means someone brought out a board to write on and was counting down the points to see who would win.

“Wasn’t expecting a crowd,” Clint muttered as he went up to take his turn. Boba watched the man carefully as the swaying stopped and Clint let the dart fly through the air. It landed in the outer ring as it should and Clint smiles when he turns back to Boba.

“You’re a hundred eighty points behind, Barton,” Boba says, going up to play his turn. He earns two darts for eight points in the double ring and one dart for twenty points in the double ring. “Now, two hundred and forty-four.”

Clint doesn’t say anything in reply when he goes up, grouping his three darts on twenty in the triple ring. Boba is careful in his fourth turn. The closer you got down the zero, the more you had to think about making sure your darts landed where they go. You had to land precisely on zero to win the game.

The one dart goes towards the center, in the small green ring where it was worth twenty-five points. Then the other two landed on the number six, earning him twenty-four points. It brought down his score from fifty-seven to eight. The next turn would be easy since he would have to land on the outer ring and one of the points was eight.

Clint took his fourth turn and got two darts in the center, each worth fifty points. The last dart went into the double ring for seven. That brought the man’s score down from a hundred and twenty-one to seven. 

It was a close game - surprising since Clint was drunk and injured at the start of this - but Boba knew he would win. It was his next turn, after all. 

By then, a crowd had formed, watching and loudly talking to each other about what they were seeing. Bets were going around to see which would win. Most had betted on Boba, saying that Fett was the better marksman by a lot. The rest were hoping on the off chance that Boba would have a bad turn and reap the rewards that way.

Boba goes to stand and looks over the dartboard. Eight wasn’t a difficult spot, even for the last shot. But he knew better than to assume that was it. Even Jango had to take a moment to get his bearings when taking a shot.

As he was moving his arm, someone from the crowd was pushed out and ended up stumbling onto him from the force of the shove and being drunk all at once. It moves the course of his dart and it lands on nineteen in the outer ring. He looks down to see a small red-haired woman, blinking up at him with a confused daze.

The apologies started once they made eye contact.

“I’m so sorry!” She yelled, her speech slurred as she tried to stand up. “I didn’t mean to do that, you have to believe me!”

Boba didn’t say anything, only offered a hand to help her up. She takes it, wobbling as she stands up straight. She’s still offering apologies when Boba holds up a hand to make her stop. Her mouth closes, her facial expression turning fearful. “Just go, you’re fine.”

She nods and makes her way out, stumbling as she goes. Boba watches for a moment and then turns to Clint. The man watched, eyes blinking like he couldn’t believe it. 

“Go, it’s your turn,” Boba growls out. Clint snaps back to attention and goes to take his turn.

Even if Boba were to hope for a freak accident like what happened to him - he wasn’t, he knew better than to hope for that -, he knew that Clint would win on this turn. The man was good at aiming even with being drunk and injured. He proves that by the calculated hits, he took in two turns despite missing the first one.

He knew at that point the man was swindling him - or at least had been trying to. But he couldn’t do anything as the dart hit number seven, and most of the crowd erupted into displeasure, losing their money on the bet they placed. The ones who bet on Clint were happy, delighting in this turnout.

Even if Clint had won, Boba knew better than to let him go. When the man turned, he was greeted with Boba grabbing him by the collar and pulling him along. The crowd didn’t pay any attention to this, both despaired and thrilled by the end of the game.

Outside the bar, Boba pulled out his blaster and held it in front of Clint’s face. 

“A sign that you’re unhappy?” Clint said worryingly. He struggled a bit in Boba’s hold, trying to wiggle his way out of facing him.

“A big sign, directly at you for swindling me during that game.”

“I wasn’t tryin-” Clint was cut off by the blaster being shoved into his face.

“Lie any further and you get a neat mark on your face,” Boba said, deadly calm.

A nervous chuckle came out of the man as he said,” Don’t suppose that means my face will be seen during the funeral if that happens.”

“No. Now tell me why you were deceiving me.”

“He won’t be doing that, Fett.” Came another voice from behind him, calm as can be. He felt a blaster press into the back of his head and Boba knew not to turn around to look. “He’s coming with me.”

“Nat-,” Clints starts with a whine and shuts up when the woman says, ‘Quit it, Clint.’

“Now, let him go or you’ll have an interesting mark in the back of the head.” It was said with disinterest, professional enough to be a bounty hunter that Boba wondered who she was. Very few have made a name for themselves like he had, especially these days with the Empire.

He does as she asks, lowering his gun away from Clint’s face. She then moves around him, holding the blaster close to his face to keep her threat credible. It was the same red-head woman in the bar, completely sober and with a calculating look in her eyes. She’d moved to be in front of Clint, protecting him from any stray shot Boba might take.

The symbol on her chest gave away who she was. “Black Widow, unfortunate that I meet you this way.”

Her smile is cold and unimpressed. “Disappointing to see Boba Fett can be distracted by a stumbling drunk woman. Thought you would be better.”

“We all can’t be Jedi, now.” He spits out. “Even Jango couldn’t take that shot with you stumbling onto him.”

The smile was still there, now tinted with amusement. “You’re right, Fett.” She said,” But I’m afraid we have to leave.”

Boba grabs her wrist, moving it so that when she shoots the blaster, it doesn’t do more than bounce off his durasteel armour. She quickly yanks her wrist out of his grip and uses her other hand to push him back. He goes back a step and it was enough for her to take aim and shoot at him.

He ducks, moving to grab her around the middle and push her down to the ground. The concrete was hard, enough so that it would make anyone groan for a moment at impact. but Black Widow being a professional, didn’t let it affect her performance as an assassin by wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing hard. Boba grabbed her arms and tried to pull them off.

She wouldn’t budge and squeezed even harder. Boba then grabbed her hair and slammed her head into the ground. Blood oozed out of a wound by the second hit into the concrete, matting in her hair and turning into a darker red that wasn’t as pleasant to look at. Still, she didn’t let go, determined to choke him out.

Then something pricked the back of his neck and he looks up to see Clint holding something in his hands. Boba couldn’t make it out, but he knew that the man had blown a dart at him.

Clint took a few steps forward, serious for once as Boba felt whatever was in the dart start to take effect of his body. Things started to go lax when he slams Black Widow’s head once more. Then he slumped forward onto her despite not wanting to. Black Widow pushed him off, letting him lay on the ground as she got up.

“Come on, Clint, we got what we came for.” She said, holding up a bag of credits. It was most likely won with a bet that Clint would win against Boba and why she probably interfered with his last in the first place.

“Couldn’t have dragged me off before he tried to blast my face off?” Clint whined. “I need it to charm people, you know!”

“You’d rather have it stay nice for Barnes,” She said slyly. From where he was lying on the ground, he saw Clint turn an interesting shade of red at whatever was being implied about him and whoever Barnes was.

“Don’t know what you’re thinking Nat, but it better not be that!” Clint shouted. Then he turned and raced out of Boba’s view. Black Widow shakes her head a moment and then follows after him.

Boba continues to lay on the ground, hoping whatever he was shot with doesn’t keep him down for long. He did after all need to get back at those two for this.

**Author's Note:**

> Have this fun one-shot and appreciate how much research and math went into this. Never played darts, so I, of course, looked up the rules for it to make sure I was writing it correctly (and even looked up a professional game to see how one round would look) and this what I ended up with. It's a neat game and I wouldn't mind trying it out if I ever get the chance. Hopefully, it wasn't too boring with how I'd written it since I also struggled with the math of both Boba's and Clint's scores from 301 points. Math is not my strong suit lmao.
> 
> Anyway, hopefully it was a fun one-shot to read! :D


End file.
